THE SUNDAY FICTION MAGAZINE, JANUARY 21, 1917
aisle scat, and waited for the curtain to
rise on the "drama masterpiece."
When the curtain rang- up on "When
the Angelus Is Ringing" the metropolitan
scout leaned forward in his chair. There
were no programs. In theaters of that
Kind it is not usual to issue programs.
But he guessed he could guess this im
ported dainty, this noble child of beauty
and genius he would have bet you he
could.
The play proceeded. Elise. in the fore
front, was doing her bit with an ax, fol
lowing her natural bent. Little did she
know that out in front sat her destiny
or what might have been her destiny.
An aged gent with white whiskers named
Whittler once wrote a passage on the
tragic color of "it might have been." He
did not have Elise in mind; but he might
have had.
THE New Yorker tossed one slant at
her when she first opened her lips to
speak a line, and aftr that he never saw
her again looked right past or over or
through her.
But he did note that the amiable old
character woman, who had done twenty
years in the sticks, playing every un
grateful part from the mother of Zaza
to the nurse in "Romeo and Juliet,'' had
sweet features and a sympathetic and
ingratiating personality and a smile that
was like the smile of a woman, not a No.
4 company slavey.
And he couldn't take his eyes off old
Lizzie McCann. And the further the play
went the more, he loved her.
The curtain rang down and the weary
players slopped toward their dressing
rooms. Elise took oft her wig and Suns;
11 into the corner, and turned to Lizzie.
"It's a gay life if you don weaken,"
said she. "An I'm weakenin'. TBishere
hittin' American plan towns an playin'
to $90 a night an' never gettin no place
Is got my goat. Say I'd marry a corn
husker an' live in a hut, I would, only to
get off o' this grind . aroun' the suitcase
circuit."
"Don't be Impatient, child," said Liz
zie McCann. "My! If I had your youth
and your opportunities "
ties?" bawled Elise. "You call this here
bumpln' aroun' among them cattle an
reubs opportunities? If I could ever get
to -N'York, or somewheres where a 'live
human bein' could gimme a squint, I
might get a tumble fm somebody. But
this here is shootin' at the moon, this is;
this here is wastm' my breath an' my
looks an my talent an' my everything,
this is. An I'm good an' sick an' dis
gusted, an you can bet your paint-stick
this is my las' season under this here
bum management. I'm gain' in vaud'
ville.,, She said the last as though she were
threatening to sell herself for dimes.
"Oh, don't say that, child," said Liz
sie. "Your chance will come. Stick to
the legitimate. Have patience."
"I got patience. But I ain got no
change o' stockln's. An I haven' had a
decent night's sleep in nine years."
"Your time will come, dearie. Yes
maybe even mine will, some day. I'm 52,
but I haven't given up hope. Somewhere,
some time "
"Oh, wake up'"
There was a knock on the door. The
janitor handed in a card. Elise reached
a bare arm after it. She saw the im
print in the corner and she turned pale,
then scarlet, then hit the ceiling then
bounced back to the floor, then wabbled
and sank into a chair.
"My stars!" she gasped. "It's come!"
And come it had.
But not to Elise. Mr. Whittier alased
for Maud Muller in well remembered lan
guage which may here be utilized by
your memory to deplore the burning.
"With artificial curls and knee dresses
she had appealed to him as glorious.
cursing, acid disappointment of Mile, de
Vaoille. For it was -finally broken to her
that it was Lizzie that the representative
from the theatrical heaven wanted to see
and to sign up and take East.
It must be remembered that Maud
married a farmer who made her bear
children, and who mumbled o'er pipe and
mug till Maud wasted away and had no
Joy except to think of the horse's chest
nut mane and how the judge had flirted
with her.
For Elise married the press agent,
who had Inherited a farm before the
close of that ill-starred season, and who
retired her to the hut she had in that
wild moment of reckless wishes brought
down upon herself.
So let this be a'leson to you, children.
The race is not always to the one whose
picture gets into the Weekly Banner; a
man doesn't always come back with what
. uw, UM your own home.'y
name on the stage and off, be sweet and
motherly, and remember that Whittier
knew what he was alasing about
Copyright, Itlt, by J. Keeley ,
AT THE CASHIER'S WINDOW
IF ONE wants to study human nature
it ,1s not necessary to go farther than
the nearest savings . bank. I had just
joined the line at one cashier's window
when a woman turned to me.
Tve got to be careful," she said.
Tve got to be careful not to lose It."
Then I saw that she was pinning a little
roll of money into a pocket in her petti
coat with a rusty safety phi.
"I hated to draw it," she went on. "I
had saved it cent by cent put it away
in my stocking but with everything so
high as it is. what is a poor creature
to dor
i . .-
Another woman a few feet away
looked upwunderstandingly. She was sit
ting on a bench, putting some money she
had evidently just drawn into an old tin
strong box. Like the first woman, she
knew she had "got .to be careful," and
did not want to lose her money on the
way home. Undoubtedly she, too, "hated
to draw it."
As I found myself third from the
cashier's window I noticed just ahead of
me a self-reliant looking woman, with a
. richly fur trimmed coat . and a jewel
flashing on the ungloved hand that held
her bank book. The1 book held several
bills of large denominations; evidently,
she had come to deposit, not to draw on
- ber account.' In front of her and facing
r the cashier was a delicate looking little
1 woman in the dingy black that told Its
double tale of grief and poverty. -
'Hew will you have itjr the bank
clerk was asking. .
Evidently the woman did not know
what be meant.
"How will you have it?" The dapper
young man looked at her with steely blue
eyes and his thin lips set after he had re
peated his formula.
The woman's distress was apparent.
"I I don t know." she faltered.
"How will you have it?" The
question was rapped out like a series of
blows, and the woman cowered under it.
The well dressed woman put ber band
lightly on the arm of the other. -.
"He means do yon want your money
in one or in five or In ten dollar bills,"
she explained softly, and the woman
gave her a look of gratitude as she
turned to the clerk and said:
"In fives, please, sir. I hope youll
pardon me, sir; I didn't understand."
As the woman la furs took ber place
before the sleek young clerk, who leaned
forward 'deferentially to dober bidding,
hhe looked him over much as she might
hare studied any other strange animal
behind bars."
"You don't know bow you surprised
me," she said, smiling, as she handed
him her book to have her deposit credit
ed. "It did not seem strange to me at all
that a poor woman did not understand
your jargon, but it did surprise me rery
much that a young man supposed to be
capable of filling your position was hot
quick witted enough to see that the poor
thing did not understand."
No Terminal
Facilities
A TRULY eloquent
preaching for an boar or so on the
immortality of the souL
"I looked at the mountain he de
claimed, "and could not help thinkinr.
Beautiful as you are, you will be de
stroyed, while my soul will not. I gazed
upon the ocean and cried. 'Mighty as you
are, yon will eventually dry up, but
not L'"